


If I Had A Heart

by bravelikealady



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, sansan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 03:47:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6268360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravelikealady/pseuds/bravelikealady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Punishment is for Sansa to take... from Cersei, from Joffrey, all his white knights.</p>
<p>But mayhaps she will not take it from the Hound any longer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I Had A Heart

**Author's Note:**

> There is no depiction of abuse, but there is sense memory related to physical violence.

She stood looking down at the throne, at the boy- the man- who sat upon it, but she was not seeing him, not truly. Her eyes found him piece by piece, not as a whole. He was truly gold-haired. It was not the yellow of hay or even of wheat. It was not soft and almost white. _Golden_. Once, she had truly thought that of him… he had been dazzling: courteous and well-spoken, flattering and gentle. _It was only pretend. Joffrey pretended, and so did Cersei, and everyone, on and on, and now I have to pretend…_

Sansa wondered grimly if there was any reason for her pretending, if it was not all some trick she played with herself, some lie she told to give herself a sense of safety. She had been pretending as well as she ever did, but Joffrey’s hostility seemed to only grow. With every word of her brother’s successes, with every new womanly curve of her body, Sansa’s life became more dangerous, and she could not will either of those things to stop happening. _I hope it never stops_ , she thought. _I hope my brother kills his every ally, so Joffrey feels all alone. I hope they write songs: Robb Stark, the Young Wolf, and the sister he saved, more beautiful for her grief._ She would never be queen as she had once dreamed, but she would be the princess in the North and men would suffer for her hand. _Robb will make sure they are worthy. Robb will be more careful than Father._

A smile spread across Sansa’s face and she felt herself come back down to earth, felt the gradual return to her body. She could feel the ache of her muscles; she could feel the spots that would bruise and the spots that would throb, unseen to anyone else, her secret friends, her constant reminders that she had fallen so far, applied only moments ago by one of those white knights she had once adored so much. _Robb will make their hurt worse than any they give to me_ , she thought. She wondered if Robb might let her watch Joffrey die, the way she had watched her father die. She hoped Cersei would have to look, on and on, powerless, small, like she had been… like she was… Sansa practiced holding her face still as stone while she daydreamed of it. The time passed much quicker then. Soon, Joffrey left his seat, as did Cersei, exiting the throne room, and the small council followed behind them, all of them unknowing that she had watched them die a thousand times. A small laugh escaped her.

“Come, Little Bird, that song won’t do.”

Sandor Clegane interrupted her private victory and made her feel wary, almost ill. She felt the blush run to her cheeks.

“Look ashamed. I’m to take you to your cage, no doubt we’ll pass loyal men on the way.”

His hand met the space between her shoulder blades and gently nudged her forward. By now, she knew that he would follow her lead, and so she took a path to her chamber that would take them outside and let the sunlight wake her, as well as avoid Joffrey and those clamoring to commend their king for a morning of _great_ council. They walked in silence for some time, the rays of sunlight doing nothing to liven Sansa, as she hoped, only making the painful _thrum-thrum-thrum_ in her skull grow worse. His shadow was even taller than he was and at times it seemed to shade her. She found herself watching it instead of the path before her and was surprised to find they had already come to the staircase that lead down into the yard.

“No turning for the Godswood now, girl. My orders were clear. You’ll go to your room.”

“I was not going to the Godswood.”

“Maybe not, but see you don’t get a fit of piety,” he said, barking a laugh at his own joke.

Scoffing, Sansa pressed on. It angered her, that he would dare chide her. _Who is he to tell me what to do_ , she thought. _He is not so smart. He does not even know what he is_. She stopped then, turning towards him, her eyes so full of anger she felt they might turn him to stone. He stopped, furrowing his brow, what remained of his lips giving a twitch.

Staring up at him, she felt hot tears forming and threatening to drop. “I am not a _stupid_ , little bird,” she said, coming as close as one could to screaming without leaving the confines of a whisper.

He barked a laugh at her, grabbed her by her shoulders, and turned her around, guiding her forcefully, though not cruelly, for the next few paces. She saw Myrcella and some other girls laughing and playing in the garden and, realizing how childish and base she would seem, she jerked away from him. Soon her feet found the serpentine steps that would take her from the bright light of the yard to the shadow of corridor. The remaining walk was silent, the only sound the fall of their footsteps: her high heel, his leather boot. Without a word, she opened her door before he could do it for her, as was typical.

“Not so much as a pretty nod? Seems I’ve ruffled your feathers,” he laughed.

She turned on him and unleashed words dripping with venom, “I will be your queen some day; you should take care not to mock me.”

He looked wounded, but only for a moment, and snarling, he turned to go. She did not intend to be so cruel, but her whole body ached, and her heart was heavy. _He is as trapped as I am,_ she thought, _only not so prettily_. Sadness gripped her then. Sandor Clegane was her only friend, if any in King’s Landing deserved that word, besides Dontos, and truth be told she felt more at ease with the Hound than she ever did with her supposed Florian…

“I did not mean it,” she called out. He stopped, but did not turn. “It is no matter, even if I had. Joffrey will never let me be queen. Not really. I am not to be any Nymeria… or even Cersei. I will have no real say.”

He still stood there. Sansa stepped just outside of her doorway and looked to be sure no one approached.

“Besides, I think he values you far more than he does me. You do not need to be so hateful. I am sorry for being cruel to you now, even though you like being cruel to me.”

Finally, he faced her. He stepped towards her, one hand propped on the hilt of his sword, the other pushing her door further open. “Go on, Little bird,” his voice had softened and the cruelty had left his eyes; the only vile thing in them now was the layer of anger he had held there since long before she came to know him.

Sansa meant only to enter and be done with it, but as she turned from him, she found the courage to speak. She would not look at him, could not bear the way he might glare at her after all she had endured that day, so she instead set her eyes on the curtains billowing about her window across the room.

“I really am no fool. I know what I am. I know he is not a prince or a king like in the stories. I know he will not ever love me. I know that none of them will.”

“Someone might.”

A breath caught in her throat and when she turned around he had closed the door behind him. “I… _what_?”

She met his eyes then, uncaring of what damage they might do. They glittered and she could not say she had seen grey so beautiful since she left Winterfell.

“If I had a heart, I _could_ love you.”

By the time a tear finally fell, he had gone again.


End file.
